


Covered in Fur and (Your) Words

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (a twist!), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Claudia Stilinski Feels, Derek is a Christmas Baby, Family Feels, Fluff, Good Parent Melissa McCall, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Meet-Cute, Police Officer Allison, Pre-Relationship, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stiles sews and cosplays, little red riding hood references, stiles as the big bad wolf, stiles likes nerdy dorky things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: People that said that the words on your skin - the first ones from your soulmate - didn't matter or affect your life were big fat liars. Stiles is one hundred percent sure he wouldn't have started creating costumes if it weren't for the words What the hell kind of costume is that? on his arm. He's also sure that if he never got into the hobby, he would never have met the man who said them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I promise halloween fic, so since the other one (or two?) isn't ready, there's at least this one? It's a little late, but I came up with it only hours ago, so.
> 
> I've been listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPUJIbXN0WY).

                The subject of soulmates was a touchy one. Sure, there were the skeptics, but that came with everything. They weren’t usually too many of them, as it was, and they were usually pretty young, too. Seeing as how everyone got to meet their soulmate (there were very _few_ stories of people who didn’t meet theirs, which led to the belief that people’s soulmates were the best fit for you that you’d meet in your lifetime, not that they were the best person for you in the entire world), most of them changed their mind after meeting the person who greeted them with their words written on their skin.

 

                A lot of older skeptics’ opinions were born out of relationships that fizzled out some way or another. They believed that because, well, if it didn’t work for their parents or their friends or whoever else, why would it work for them?

 

                It was quite a feat that Scott didn’t turn out to be one of those people. A lot of that was because he was just so genuine and sweet at heart, Stiles reasoned, but the rest was likely because of his mother. She was always cheering him on to find his soulmate and be happy with them when he felt down about her broken relationship with his father, and was never bitter about it. Stiles, always quietly to himself, believed that was because that _yes_ , Rafael was her soulmate, and vise versa, not because he was someone who completed her, but because he gave her the best part of her life, a very special kind of happiness – Scott.

 

                So, growing up with that thought, as well as with the soft fog that covered his dad’s eyes when he rubbed a thumb over the words, _Well, what are you going to do to me, officer?_ on his wrist, even after – even after… well, Stiles wasn’t a skeptic. Which was probably for the best, seeing as how much his own words affected him when he later got them.

 

                He took after his mother in that respect. When she was twenty-one and the words _I’m going to arrest you for public indecency is what_ scrawled across her collarbone, she found that she had a very sudden taking to skinny dipping, apparently. It only took a year and a couple occasions where she found herself in a holding cell over night, but she finally met him, nude and with a flashlight bright in her eyes. She liked telling that story a lot, much to Stiles’ father’s embarrassment. He felt there was more to that story than she liked to speak of, but he didn’t try to think about that too much.

 

                (His father had already been thinking about joining the police force, but at fifteen when he read the word ‘officer’ on his skin, it cemented itself as his dream job.)

 

                Everyone got their soulmate’s first words to them written somewhere on their skin on the day of their soulmate’s eighteenth birthday. So, the day they got their tattoos, they knew not only what their soulmate was going to say to them, but their birthday, and how much older or younger they were. Usually, the differences weren’t that gaping, typically around a few months to a year or two, but some people had several years differences, though never more than ten.

 

                Stiles was twelve and a half when he got his. He’s pretty sure that they’re the reason he found himself liking such nerdy things.

 

* * *

 

 

                It’s the third Christmas without Mom, and Stiles is watching old episodes of Buffy, skipping to each of her favorites, and studiously ignoring the decorations that, while he was the one that put them up and pushed to keep the traditions going _for her_ , still hurt to look at. He can get in about three more before he and Dad are heading to Scott’s to spend the afternoon with them. He’s wondering if it’s worth saving _Once More with Feeling_ for the last one before they leave, because he knows he’ll have quotes stuck in his head all day, but _is it_ worth having _Walk Through the Fire_ there too, when it happens.

 

                He’s not moving, perfectly still in his position, spread out all over the couch, when his left arm just _burns_. Not even the one he’s lying on, either, but the one that’s resting on his side. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like a whole chunk of his under forearm is being pressed up against a heater – close enough to feel the heat of it, but not crack under the burn. It takes a second to understand what this feeling is, work his way through it – because it’s honestly really distracting – before he realizes that his _soulmate words_ are coming through, being imprinted right into his skin.

 

                He wasn’t prepared – didn’t think they’d come in this early.

 

                Before they’re even finished, he pauses his show and bounds up the stairs and into his dad’s office. He can’t really hide his huge grin, something that probably looks out of place, given the time of year and overbearing absence of his mother, but he tries. He doesn’t succeed.

 

                His dad looks up from where he’s scribbling out addresses on cards, a single glance at first, that turns into a pause when he notices Stiles’ face. “Son,” he starts slowly, hand still holding the pen, expecting this visit to be a short one. “It’s not time to go yet.”

 

                Stiles doesn’t even acknowledge that and instead lifts his arm into the air, rubbing his other hand over the red patch that’s starting to blacken (which will fade, leaving behind the words) to bring attention to it. “I got a present.” At his father’s raised eyebrows, he points, a little more aggressively than the rubbing, and clarifies, “From my soulmate.”

 

                As he watches his dad’s eyes widen, zeroing in on the patch that’s almost completely ink black, he can’t help but let out a shaky laugh, words breathless, “A Christmas baby.”

 

                “Oh, son,” he whispers, staring at the arm, which Stiles turns his attention to it, too, stepping closer to his dad, who drops the pen and pushes back from his chair. “You couldn’t have given me a few more years, could you?”

 

                Stiles only laughs again, eagerly awaiting what he’s going to see.

 

* * *

 

 

                Over the course of the next twelve years, Stiles finds himself at conventions, sewing stores, and all over the streets on Halloween. His costumes and cosplays are always wacky, bizarre, and unique, which of course takes effort and skill since he needs the most questionable attire he can find, which often leads to him having to make it himself. It starts as a hobby, but as he does more and more, and Scott starts to beg him to make his too, he finds himself creating more than he’ll just wear. It isn’t a job by any stretch, but around October he makes a little cash by renting out his old outfits, and he sells some, patterns to others, online all throughout the year.

 

                He finds it comforting once he gets the hang of it, fun on some days, relaxing on most. There are times where he has to pick his brain to find a way to make a certain piece of a costume, or if he’s trying out a new tip that he found. Overall, now that he knows what he’s doing, it’s only frustrating on rare days. It’s something he enjoys.

 

                This year, he decided to let Amy (a nickname for Amelie, which he suggested and he can’t believe they accepted because while it _does_ mean “defender” and Allison loved it, he totally ripped it off a video game princess) choose his costume this year. Of course, Amy being Amy – loveable two-year old who has him wrapped around her finger and will one day kill him with her giggles – decided that Uncle Stiles’ costume wasn’t enough and wanted to pick both Scott’s and Allison’s too. They’re just as smitten, so they rolled with it as well, which lead to the matching set between the four of them.

 

                Since Stiles’ dad had just recently read her Little Red Riding Hood, it seemed to be the freshest in her mind, because she had pointed a single, chubby finger at Stiles and declared, “Big Bad ‘thiles,” and that was that. He tried not to be offended that he was the first choice to be the wolf, especially when she had turned to Scott and gave a goofy grin (the one she definitely got from her father) and told him to be Little Red.

 

                That disappointment turned slightly to fear when she told him she wanted to be the Hunter, because he got to chop up the wolf.

 

                Even still, Stiles had done it. Amy got her flannel, a fake little mustache, boots, and a styrofome axe she liked to whack him with a little too much. He had gotten the full furry setup, big paws and feet, claws, and elongated snout. He also made a little flap on his belly to store Amy’s candy, something he found – modest or not – to be creative of him because he knew Amy didn’t like carrying things around too long, and it would fill up as if he had just eaten someone.

 

                Allison, the grandmother in the story apparently, got a nightgown made of floral, but not sheer material, a cap to match, a wig of curly white hair, and upon Amy’s request (so everyone would know she had just been in bed, of course), a blanket, worn around her shoulders like a cape. Scott’s part, admittingly, was Stiles’ favorite, because with three against one, it was decided that he had to wear the skirt and apron part of it, too, even if that wasn’t explicitly described in the tale. He got his cape and a basket to go along with it, and Amy was pleased. Stiles was pretty sure that he was going to take it all off once they left (Allison to go to the station to help with the other officers to check through candy to amek sure it’s fine, or incase they needed to send someone out; Stiles with Amy to go trick or treating while Scott handed out candy at the house), but by the time they got back, Amy would be too sleepy to really argue about it.

 

                Besides, he did wear it all around most of the day, anyway. It was their own little family tradition, to wear the costumes all day, but Stiles thinks that only started because Scott had pestered Stiles into making his for him, and didn’t want it to go to waste by only wearing it for a few hours before throwing it to the back of the closet. Either way, he spent the day lounging around in a fur suit, so he couldn’t really blame Scott for wanting to change once they left.

 

                Halloween was always an exciting time of the year for Stiles. It was less of the candy and the horror and everything else, but more of the comments on his costumes. Most of the time they were all pretty positive, but they were never the exact words he was looking for, so year after year, he went out with Amy or Scott (before she was born and he was stuck on handing out duty), in hopes that this year would be the one.

 

                See, with the words on one’s skin being the first their soulmate ever said to them, a lot of them were simple things, typical greetings, like _Hello_ , or _How are you?_ , or _Excuse me_. Scott and Allison were lucky enough to get something _slightly_ different, their matching, _Do you need a pen?_ and _Oh, um, thank you_. They had been destined for a sweet moment from the start. Or, well, from their eighteenth birthdays, and then where they would meet only a few months (or in Allison’s case, a year) later.

 

                Stiles’, however, was more than just slightly off the usual course. He, of all things, got _What the hell kind of costume is that?_

 

                And well. He’s always blamed his soulmate’s first words on the fact that he indulged himself in the world of nerdy things. It was what made him try to pick the weirdest things he could, after all, and that kind of stuff of course came out of sci fi and supernatural and superheroes and everything Stiles found himself in love with.

 

                So, here he is, paw thrust out for Amy to clutch to as they walk up the driveway of another house, her axe dragging against the ground in her other hand. He’s given up carrying her, because every time he picks her up, she tries to dip down and stick her hand into his stomach pouch to eat something, but Stiles knows that if she got even a bite of candy before Allison’s scanned it, there would be a fit thrown, so he isn’t even going to give Amy the chance.

 

                The last house on this cul-de-sac has two web-infested trees, one with huge (like, beach ball sized), glowing eyeballs in the middle of it, and there’s a gigantic, fuzzy spider attached to the trunk, like it’s climbing down, and Stiles gives it a wide berth. He lets Amy wham on the door with the butt of her axe, and when the door opens, revealing a man who looks too tired to be doing this, even though it’s only 6:45.

 

                His eyes go straight to Amy and a grin lights up his face, exposing the long, fake vampire teeth he has in, and he immediately goes from someone who would probably play a better Hunter with his scruffy beard and dead gaze than Amy and her cute, bubbliness to someone Stiles wants to bring home to introduce his dad. He might have just fallen a bit in love right there.

 

                Amy garbles out some kind of, “Trick or treat!” as she stares at this guy’s teeth, a little transfixed. She’s always been a little too interested in things that should scare kids her age and these pointy teeth are no different. The man’s eyes soften and he offers up his bowl of candy, where she carefully debates on which one she wants before picking it out and leaning over to plop it into Stiles’ pouch.

 

                This guy pauses, watching her actions, before he starts to look up at Stiles’, presumably trying to find his face. His expression shifts again, one to bewilderment and what looks to be a touch of disgust – probably at the idea that Stiles is a _furry_ – when he can’t find it, mouth opening, and, “What the hell kind of costume is _that_?”

 

                And… God. That sentence should be rude, but all it does is really tell Stiles that if he wasn’t in love before, he is now.

 

                He freezes up, body working on autopilot, which of course means that his filter breaks about two hundred percent more than usual, and out slips the first thing his brain can work out to say – a muffled, weak, “Would you believe me if I told you I was a werewolf?”

 

                Handsome Hunter Man tenses up too, mouth falling open, but he doesn’t say anything. He just kind of gapes, stares, and Amy pipes up, demanding not to be forgotten about, “No – Big Bad ‘thiles!”

 

                Which, thanks, Amy. Werewolf was a lot cooler, and even if this guy is supposed to be kind of perfect for him – he’s already perfect for his _eyes_ – Stiles doesn’t want him to be left thinking he’s a _loser_. “Right,” he nods, jerkily, and Amy looks up, squinting just like her mom does, and that _really_ isn’t helping Stiles chill out. “So.”

 

                “So.” Mountain Man mimics, which Stiles doesn’t have a response for, and stands up, dusting off his knees. “My name is Derek.” He holds out a hand.

 

                Stiles tries to shake it, but it comes out as more of a pat, but it gets out a soft chuckle from Derek, so he tries not to feel too embarrassed about it. “I’m Stiles. It’s nice to finally meet my soulmate.”

 

                _It’s nice to finally meet my soulmate_? God, he doesn’t need Amy to make him look like a loser. He can do that all on his own.

 

                Amy squints again, but Derek smiles, gentle, and Stiles kind of wishes he had made a hole for his face so he could smile right back.

 

                When they arrive at the station, Stiles has a number written on a slip of paper hidden in his pouch, waiting for him to get home so he can take his suit off and call it. Allison is ecstatic for him when she hears the news, and so is Scott, though he asks, somewhat pitifully, if Stiles plans on continuing to make costumes and cosplay.

 

                The answer is _of course_ , because now that he’s found his soulmate, all that’s changed is that he has someone to come with him.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~I have more thoughts on this particular au, but I have no idea if I'd be doing more.~~  
>  ~~ **EDIT:** A sequel is definitely in the works now.~~  
>  **EDIT 2:** Sequel is finished - [Perfect Thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8494594).
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, thanks for reading this far!!


End file.
